Ma’s fingers move slowly through my hair. “When something doesn’t leave your head, bring it to life. Once your story is on paper, it will finally let you go.”
I nod.
Zloban (21 years old)
“You can’t get rid of somethings, Dove. They are bound to stay with you. In your head. In your life. In your soul.”
But she can’t hear me the way I hear her. I hear every word she speaks throughout her day. And now, I wonder, what has occupied my little Dove’s pretty head?
Pa suspects the obvious: a boy. But unlike Pa, I know that’s not the truth. She has no boy in her life. I’ve made sure of it.
On her social media, there are only girls. Any boy who dares to follow her loses his account. Her entire feed is carefully shaped with content related to only her hobbies. I’ve hacked and rewritten her algorithms, ensuring she never stumbles upon anything she shouldn’t.
Her world is curated, controlled, protected. And I intend to keep it that way.
Am I protecting her by doing all this? Yes. But is protection the only reason? No.
I need to know what she knows, what she thinks, what she wants, what she likes, so that I can make sure she never wants something I don’t want her to want. Like some stupid teenage fling.
I know too well that none of this is what I should do. But when it comes to her, the boundaries of right andwrong dissolve entirely. She is the chaos in my perfectly coded life.
I could plan every step of my future, from this very moment to the day I die. I could write it all down on paper and bend the entire world to fit that script. And yet, I can’t.
Because of one uncertainty.
Out there exists a girl who holds the terrifying power to alter the entire course of my existence.
If one day she wakes up and decides she wants to live on Mars, then I would have no choice but to abandon everything and go with her.
I slide her live footage to the side of my screen before resuming my work. I need her always in my periphery. Because I can’t breathe without knowing that she is breathing.
chapter 11
04 December 2049
Avira (18 years old)
Wen passes my tablet back to me, her eyes wide like sausages. She’s lying on the bed, propped up on one elbow, staring at me as if I’ve grown horns. She has just read the first smut I’ve ever written.
“Where the hell did you learn all these things?” she asks in a still-shocked voice, rolling her head against the pillow.
“From fellow authors, by reading their smut.”
“Is this even accurate? Because without first-hand experience, you can’t possibly know all this.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “I don’t think it’ll be much different. I mean, other authors must have experiencedthese things, and besides, I’ve watched videos too, so I’m not completely clueless, you know?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re still a virgin even in terms of kissing. You couldn’t be more clueless. I’d recommend a very solid proof-reading of this book. And seriously, why the hell do you even need to write smut? You’re already selling insanely well without it.”
“But isn’t smut really in demand in the market?”
She waves her hand like it’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “You’re a best-selling name in fantasy. You’ve got a huge audience of underage readers. You don’t need to chase trends. You are the trend, babe.”
This girl could motivate me to fight the whole damn world if she wanted.
I roll back in my chair, shrugging. “Alright, I won’t take the headache of writing smut.”
She nods, already lost in her phone screen.
